Note From My Moleskine #1

May 3, 2009

26 April 2009
Buffalo, NY

Stuffy mothball smell in
a dark closet above an
old stripper’s home, where
penachle (?) and convo
replaces thumping bass
and grabbing hands.
Toilet paper in my ears.
Strange silhouettes of the
window frame set off by
amber street light on a
bed sheet coming in.
Minor chords jangle a drunk
spine. I hear harmonics
through the toilet tissue.

Beer cans and two
drum sets in this room.
So many influences being
piled into one effort,
competing with each boy’s
soul and the polluting ego,
trying not to seem like
you’re trying not to be
impressed by what you see.
Honkeys in the practice space.
Beer spills into carpet that soaks it up.

Sounds suddenly… weird.
Not even yet ready to
admit that I think
I might, possibly,
if they turn down the bass
and toss the lyrics, like what
I’m hearing.

Posturing postures falling flat,
and in front of everyone
you never knew held an
opinion you valued!

Good? How to say it?
Wait for someone else.
Riff off a riff.
Dilute your meaning.
It’s cool, dude,
it was great.